Colin F. Jones
TIS THE LIVING WHO SUFFER
The gun fire of war has taken our loved ones,
And scattered their bodies across the terrain,
The hollows and shell scrapes are festering ponds,
Of vermilion memories of where they were slain,
They died as warriors, brothers for brothers,
Some never to be buried in a family grave
Leaving despair, in the hearts of their mothers,
Their fathers feeling proud that they were so brave.
They have left us forever; they will not be home,
To hear the sad sounds of those missing them weeping,
The spirits from their bodies have heavenly flown
And now with the Angels they are peacefully sleeping.
No more battles to fight no anguish, no pain:
Yet sad memories still scathe those who remain.
©Copyright December 3, 2004 by Colin F. Jones
This poem inspired the response, “Tis the Living Who Suffer” – ©Copyright December 4, 2004 by J.J. McCloud